


What Happens In This Dimension...

by deathishauntedbyhumans



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Alternate Dimensions, Brief Alcohol Mention, Declarations Of Love, Discussions of Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fake Science, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018), Wade Wilson Breaking the Fourth Wall, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 06:49:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18441260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathishauntedbyhumans/pseuds/deathishauntedbyhumans
Summary: ...doesn’t always STAY in this dimension. Alternately, the one where RIPeter was in a poly relationship with his Wade and his MJ, and that Wade ends up in Burrito Peter’s apartment and forces him to have Thoughts™ about his own Wade.





	What Happens In This Dimension...

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has taken me SO DAMN LONG to complete and it’s. finally done. So there.

“So, the ‘B’ stands for ‘Babe,’ right?”

Peter’s been back in his own dimension for less than a week, but his life already feels like it’s turning itself around. He’s already started to lose weight, he’s been out on the scene stopping crime, he’s _talked to MJ,_ which, hell, she didn’t say they could get back together (painful, yes, but also reasonable), but she _did_ say they could start by attempting to pick up a friendship where it had left off.

So, yeah. His life’s definitely not all sunshine and rainbows, but he’s feeling one helluva lot better than he’s felt since way before the divorce.

Naturally, it’s _now_ that life decides to throw him yet another curveball.

“What the fu—“ Peter begins to say, because there’s a skinny-as-shit red-suited mercenary sitting on his sofa that he _definitely_ did not invite into his apartment.

“Ah!” The not-quite-stranger holds up a hand to interrupt him. “Unless something is seriously screwed in this dimension, I’m pretty sure Spider-babe’s not allowed to say the fuck word.” His voice is high, lilting. _Teasing,_ Peter’s treacherous mind supplies, right along with _nice._ Peter tells his brain to shut the hell up.

“Wade Wilson,” Peter says blankly, dropping his hand from the mask he’d just been about to remove. Wade perks up a little.

“You _do_ know me, here!” he exclaims, and Peter can hear the grin in his voice. God, Wade sounds… younger. Younger and no less excitable than he is now, that’s for sure. Maybe, though —hopefully— he’s a little less jaded. “I was afraid I was gonna have to pin you down and give you the 411. The lowdown. The sweet tea. The j—“

“I get it.” Peter shakes his head, rubs a hand over his still-covered face, and turns away from the couch to head to the fridge, instead. He’s pretty sure he still has a case of beer left in— ah. Yep. Right where he’d left it. Thank _fuck._ “I’m not drunk enough for this conversation.”

Wade is moving— Peter feels the tingle in the back of his neck before he even hears the shuffling of second-rate spandex (whatever dimension he’s from must not have gotten ahold of the good stuff, yet) coming towards him. He ignores it firmly, opening drawers until he finds a bottle-opener.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Wade says. He’s _pouting,_ like a kid who hasn’t gotten ice cream for dinner, and Peter hates it as much as he finds it endearing. _Especially_ when he turns around to find Wade standing behind him, mask-less, watching him with bright, shining eyes.

And _oh._ Peter has _never_ had a problem with the way Wade looks. The whole dangerous scarred thing is… actually kinda hot, if he’s honest with himself (which he never, _ever_ is). But _this… This_ is a whole ‘nother level of _oh, shit._

Wade looks twenty years younger than he’s supposed to, in this dimension, and Peter already knows it’s going to drive him _nuts._

“What?” Peter asks, blinking. He knows that Wade can’t see his expression —thank goodness for small favours— but the way his gaze _sharpens_ makes Peter feel like Wade knows something he doesn’t.

“My question,” Wade replies. “What’s the ‘B’ stand for?”

Yep. Peter is _definitely_ too sober to deal with this —or any!— version of the merc with a mouth. He slides his mask up just enough to reveal his mouth and takes a long swig of the beer before setting it down on the counter.

“Benjamin,” he answers, voice a little rough from the carbonation of the drink. “Where, exactly, did you come from again?”

Without missing a beat, Wade reaches for the beer, snagging it from the countertop and stealing a sip. Peter can’t even say he’s surprised.

“Well, I’m from another dimension. My Spider-Man is—“ Wade’s features flash with something uncharacteristically _heavy,_ grief and sorrow and anger and regret and— it’s gone before Peter can take it all in, and Wade swallows hard, looking away from him. “Well. He’s— gone. He died. And now, there’s another Spider-Man. Some kid. He seems like a good kid, y’know? A good Spider-kid. It’s just… He’s not…” Wade bites his lip; Peter’s gaze is drawn unceremoniously to the way he works the scarred skin between his teeth until he lets it go again. “Anyways. I went to sleep last night in my bed and woke up on the roof of some tall-ass building a few streets down. Figured I’d check out my apartment in this dimension and see if I could offer me any help, and I found you here instead!” Wade makes a very obvious effort to perk back up; Peter knows him (or at least, his own version of him) well enough to know that something is still wrong. But he can’t bring himself to pry. “Your MJ called and left a voicemail on your home phone. She’s pretty good at exposition, for a lady who had no idea I was here.” There’s a very strange pride in Wade’s voice, but Peter can’t dig into that, either, because all he can do is frown deeply down at Wade.

“You listened to my voicemails?”

Wade puts his hands up in a surrender. “Not on purpose! Your voicemail does the out-loud talking thing! Who even still has that?”

Peter sighs heavily. “I do?”

With a snort, Wade shrugs and drops his hands again. “Old man.” There’s a pause, in which Peter re-acquires his beer and considers the contamination of Wade’s spit for all of none seconds before he takes another good, long draught of it down the hatch.

“I need to find myself,” Wade states out of nowhere, and Peter raises his eyebrows before realising Wade can’t see the expression.

“Don’t we all?”

Wade snorts. “That’s not what I meant, Petey, and you know it.”

Somehow, the fact that this Wade knows his identity feels like more of a shock than he expects. It had taken much longer in this dimension for Peter to trust Wade enough to share his identity with him; they’d been older than Wade is now when it had happened. Peter tries not to dwell on it too much. It doesn’t matter. It’s not his dimension. It’s… probably Miles’ dimension, actually. Dead Peter Parker, new Spider-Man (or Spider-Kid)... Sure sounds like the dimension he’d left not too long ago.

“Fine, fine. Why do you think this dimension’s you will be able to help?”

“Call it a hunch?” Wade offers, shrugging. He slides the beer can out of Peter’s fingers and takes another sip before grinning at him, that same shit-eating grin Peter usually sees on the Wade that’s closer to his own age. Some things, it seems, never change. “Trust me. Us Deadpools know a thing or two about the Multiverse. If anyone can get me back home, it’s him. Me. Whatever.” 

* * *

“So, you were just planning on breaking into this apartment no matter what, huh?” Peter asks Wade. He’s trying to talk like this is _normal,_ like having a twenty-years-younger version of his —fuck, it’s true, isn’t it— probable _best friend_ hanging out in his apartment isn’t the weirdest thing that’s happened to him since his own brush with the multiverse.

Wade is sprawled over the entire couch —he’s _never_ going to grow out of that, either, Peter can attest— which leaves Peter scrunched in the corner with Wade’s feet on his lap. Peter feels _awkward,_ but Wade’s made himself right at home. Of course.

“It’s where I live in my universe,” Wade replies, wiggling his toes against Peter’s leg until he manages to poke the big one into Peter’s stomach. He doesn’t comment on the squishiness (which, while improved some since Peter had decided to start working out again after all of the thinly-veiled fat jokes back in Miles’ dimension, is definitely still a thing), which Peter _does_ appreciate. It might be the _only_ thing about Wade’s presence here that he appreciates.

(That’s a lie, a big fucking lie, but Peter is very firmly _not thinking_ about the fact that the clothes Wade is wearing are too big for him, because he’d had to borrow them from Peter’s closet.)

“But _this_ isn’t _your_ universe,” Peter replies, and Wade lolls his head over to fix him with an annoyed look.

“I know _that_ ,” Wade says. “But some things stay constant in the multiverse. I figured that even if it wasn’t _my_ apartment, someone inside would be able to help me.” The look Wade’s giving him turns pointed, now, and Peter resists the urge to squirm under his gaze. Wade is _twenty years younger_ than he is. There is _no reason_ for Peter to feel like a schooled little kid. “And I was right.”

Peter pinches the bridge of his nose. If his own dimension’s Wade doesn’t get here soon, Peter’s pretty sure that he’s just going to spontaneously combust.

 _I’ll be there soon,_ the text Wade had sent had proclaimed, once Peter had gotten a text to him in the first place about the situation at hand. Soon, his ass. Knowing him, Wade had probably stopped somewhere for a bite to eat before getting his butt to Peter’s apartment.

“Besides,” the Wade in front of him continues, even though Peter would love nothing more than for him to _just stop talking._ When Peter looks up at him, the weird grimdark expression from before crosses his face, if only for a moment. “My Peter lived here too, so it’s only half-different.”

Wade’s voice cracks on Peter’s name. It’s subtle, but it happens, and Peter knows his own Wade well enough to recognise the nuances of his emotional outbursts… and the lack thereof. It’s… complicated. _Wade_ is complicated. He’s never seemed to experience emotion the way that other people in Peter’s life do, but there’s enough of a pattern to his behaviour that Peter is confident in his ability to read him.

Apparently, that ability extends to this version of Wade, too.

Peter doesn’t want to ask. He doesn’t _do_ emotion, not well, and he’s already uncomfortable enough as it is with the bullshit they’ve got going on. But… he glances over at Wade, and Wade’s staring at the wall opposite to them like he’s never seen anything more interesting in his life, and _Peter recognises that expression_ and he can’t just… leave it alone

Plus, he’s curious about what Wade is implying. Sue him.

“What do you mean?” Peter asks, and Wade jolts like he’s forgotten they’d even been having a conversation in the first place. Peter feels Wade’s foot jerk against his leg, and then he settles again and looks over to meet Peter’s gaze.

“We lived together,” Wade states casually, as if it’s not the earth-shattering statement that it is, and then seems to catch himself. He blinks at Peter, as if sizing him up —and Peter, for some reason, can’t _breathe—_ and then looks away again. “Fuck.”

“Wade—“

“Look, Spidey—“ And Wade is doing that _thing_ where he pretends that he doesn’t care, where he distances himself from shit so he doesn’t have to feel, and it’s never helpful when his own Wade does it which means it’s _twice_ as utterly unhelpful when it comes from this one. “—the Multiverse is huge and fucked up and weird. We shouldn’t talk about my dimension—“

“I’ve _been_ in your dimension,” Peter interrupts, frustration bubbling up from his chest. Wade stops dead and stares, his eyes blown wide in surprise. “Yeah. Who do you think taught your new Spider-Man how to _be Spider-Man,_ huh? The kid learned from me.” _Me and the other spiders,_ Peter doesn’t add, because it’s beside the fucking point. “I got pulled into your dimension a couple weeks back. Saved the multiverse, mentored the new Spider-Man. No big deal or anything, though, whatever. So don’t talk to me about the multiverse being huge and fucked up, yeah? I’m well-aware.”

“The other Spider-People,” Wade murmurs in revelation, nodding slowly. “You— You were all from other dimensions. I should have figured.”

Peter doesn’t know what to say, because Wade looks like he’s at war with himself, so he says nothing and _waits,_ waits for him to make whatever decision he’s having such trouble making.

“You and your Wade aren’t in a relationship,” Wade says suddenly. He doesn’t look at Peter when he says it, and it doesn’t actually sound like a question. Peter, taken aback, only nods slowly, struck dumb by the utter one-eighty the conversation has just taken. “Yeah, no, that’s what I thought.” There’s a soft, bitter, _resigned_ quality to Wade’s voice, now. “We were. Me, Peter, and MJ were all… together. We lived in this fucking apartment together and—“ Wade clears his throat. “—y’know, did all the shit you do when you’re shacked up with the people you love.” His voice cracks hard on _love,_ but he presses on without acknowledging it. “So I figured that maybe, just fucking maybe, I’d stumble into a universe where me and you were together, even though the odds of that are like, three bajillion to six, and—“

“Hold up,” Peter interrupts, because he… he needs a second to process. Wade finally, dutifully, shuts his mouth. “So you’re saying that your me and your you and your _MJ_ were all…”

“Yeah,” Wade says, too fast and too subdued to be anything but genuine. “We were. Dating, in a relationship, fucking, close-to-married… You name it, Webs, and we were _it.”_

Peter drops his head into one hand, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Please just call me Peter,” he says, because he really can’t handle the nickname thing right now on top of everything else. He’s _too old_ to be dealing with any of this! “Why were you in a relationship with him?”

There’s a sad, sad edge to Wade’s voice that Peter doesn’t even have to see his expression to acknowledge. “Because I loved him.”

It’s so fucking simple, but the revelation takes Peter’s breath away anyways.

If this Wade loved his version of Peter Parker, does that mean it’s possible that his own Wade…?

Peter is quiet for a long moment. Too long, apparently, because he feels Wade’s foot flex lightly against his leg as Wade hesitantly says, “...Peter? Did I break you?”

Broken? No. God, no. Peter’s been broken for years. He wants to laugh at the very notion of this Wade breaking him, but he’s afraid that if he tries, it will come out like a sob.

“I’m fine. I just—“

Peter doesn’t get to finish his sentence, though, because there’s a sharp knock at his door followed by the knob twisting and catching on the lock. A muffled “Petey baby, be a doll and let me in!” from outside makes them both jump, and Peter wants to _scream,_ because he really doesn’t know if he can deal with two fucking Wade Wilsons right now, especially with the idea of _Wade being in fucking love with him at any point in their lives_ swimming around in his head.

The Wade inside his apartment gets his feet on the ground first, and he bounds over to the door. Peter catches sight of him putting on a brave face, and he steels himself to do the same. Even _if_ there’s something he… should probably talk to his own Wade about, holy _shit,_ it can wait until they get the current issue dealt with.

Wade glances towards Peter, who stands and nods once to let him know it’s alright. Wade throws the door open with a grin.

“Hello, handso—“ The Wade outside starts to say, and then he cuts himself off and stares at the figure in front of him. “ _Oh. Well._ Hell _oo, handsome.”_

* * *

Once the situation is explained, it doesn’t take Peter’s Wade long to formulate a solution to the problem at hand. Apparently, dimensional rifts have been opening in various locations all over the multiverse, something that the other Wade is quick to confirm.

All they have to do is calculate the next dimensional rift opening in _their current_ dimension and toss Wade back through.

Which… they do. There’s a surprising lack of pomp and circumstance about the whole thing, really, which Peter is more than grateful for, because he’s still trying to _process_ the fact that… Holy _shit._ Wade fucking Wilson, himself, and MJ were all… apparently _together_ in Miles’ dimension.

It sounds crazier than the idea of the multiverse existing in the first place.

“It’s been real,” the alternate version of Wade says to both Peter and this dimension’s Wade, who’s standing at Peter’s side in the relatively clean alleyway _just_ close enough to make him think about the heat he’s sure he can feel radiating off of Wade’s skin from underneath his Deadpool suit. “Hey, Peter?”

Peter jolts, staring the younger Wade dead in his now-masked face. “Yeah?”

“The answer is yes,” he says, like he knows the panicked question that’s been running through Peter’s mind ever since their conversation about his alternate dimension self.

Before either Peter or his Wade can comment, the portal they’re waiting on opens, and the alternate Wade gives a two-fingered salute and steps into it. Seconds later, it slams shut without a seam.

“Did it work?” Peter asks carefully, just as Wade asks, “What was _that_ about?”

They both look at each other, and then Wade huffs a laugh and gives a minute shrug. “Theoretically. He might bounce around a couple more dimensions before he gets back to his own, but hey! He’s me. He’ll figure it out.”

Peter nods. He should answer Wade’s question, now. That would be the right thing to do. But he doesn’t know _how,_ because that’s a conversation he doesn’t quite know if he’s capable of having.

His indecision must show on his face, because Wade frowns and bumps their shoulders together lightly. “You good, Webs?” he asks, and Peter waits for the familiar annoyance at the nickname to erupt in his chest.

It doesn’t come. All Peter feels is _warm._

_Fuck._

“I’m not sure.” It’s an honest answer, because Peter feels a little like he’s going to fall over and a little like he might blurt something stupid if he doesn’t shove his fist into his mouth. Wade’s frown deepens. “I—“

“We should get you home,” Wade interrupts, and then Peter sees a flash of concern before Wade is reaching up to tug his mask back on.

He doesn’t get it over his head properly before Peter’s hand jerks out of its own volition and stills Wade’s hand.

“They were dating,” Peter states. Wade _freezes,_ presumably because Peter has _stopped him_ from remasking himself.

“What?”

“That Wade, and the Peter Parker that died in the dimension I ended up in, and their MJ. They were all dating, all three of them.” It spills from Peter’s lips like a secret, and it _feels_ like a weight off his chest when he says it aloud. Saying it feels like a puzzle piece slotting into place the right way, like he’s been trying it upside down before now and he’s just managed to get it turned so it fits.

Wade has schooled his expression into something glaringly neutral, like he knows more than he wants to let on. It’s _shocking_ how well Peter knows him; he hadn’t even realised how closely Wade had managed to worm his way into his life.

“Oh?” is all he says, like he’s waiting for Peter’s reaction before he decides how to add on to that response.

Peter decides to play dumb, like he’s _not_ completely and utterly aware of the meaning of every little nuance of Wade’s expression. “Yeah. It sounded kinda nice, what they had.”

It’s _worth it_ to play dumb, because Wade blinks in surprise like that was the _last_ possible answer he’d been expecting. It confirms both Peter’s curiosity and the alternate Wade’s parting words: Wade _does_ have feelings for Peter in this dimension, too.

“Really?” Wade asks, and the note of genuine shock pulls at something in Peter’s chest.

“Yeah,” he repeats, his own features softening a stupid amount. “It got me thinking, actually.”

Peter lets the pause draw out longer than it needs to, because Wade looks like he’s about to explode and it’s _cute,_ damn him. He drops the hand holding his mask to his side and reaches out with his other to grab onto Peter’s shoulder like it’s the only thing in the world keeping him grounded.

“Babe, don’t keep me in the dark like this,” he pleads. “I’m on the edge of my metaphorical seat, here! For the love of Wolverine’s giant hairy balls, _please_ tell me you’re saying what I think you’re saying.”

Peter cringes. “First of all, _gross,_ Wade,” he says, and Wade’s face breaks out into a smirk that betrays nothing but ridiculous pride. The warmth in Peter’s chest inexplicably grows hotter. “Second of all… I was thinking about you and me, in _this_ dimension, and wondering if there was any possible chance—“

“ _Yes,”_ Wade crows. His arms are being thrown around Peter before Peter has a chance to react, and suddenly, he finds himself with a pretty fucking heavy armful of muscled, red-suited merc. “Fuck yeah, Petey. Do you know how _long_ I’ve been waiting for this? At least eight seasons!” He pulls away, just enough to frown at Peter. “Or maybe issues? Sequels? These timelines are so confusing.”

Peter has no idea what Wade is blabbing on about. Whenever he gets all fourth-wall-break-y, the best thing to do is usually to distract him before he gets into full monologue mode. So Peter does the best thing he can think of to distract Wade in the moment.

If Wade’s muffled “ _oh, fuck yeah,”_ is anything to go by, kissing the fourth wall right out of him is the new best way to keep his attention focused on the here and now.  


**Author's Note:**

> Kudos/comments are love! Come scream at me on tumblr @deathishauntedbyhumans.


End file.
